Chapter 8 - Oxygen Zero
A deafening siren tore through the mansion, followed instantly by the violent hiss of high-pressure halon gas flooding the corridor from the ceiling vents. In seconds, the oxygen in the hallway dropped toward lethal levels, starving the burning thermite fire and suffocating every man in the room.
Victor Lucian’s guards immediately dropped their rifles, clawing at their throats as their lungs were robbed of air. Julian shrieked in absolute panic, falling to his knees and vomiting on the antique runner rugs as he gasped uselessly against the nitrogen-heavy mist.
Marcus, expecting the deploy, had already pulled a dual-canister tactical respirator over his face. He grabbed Emma with one arm, pressing a pocket emergency rebreather firmly over her nose and mouth. "Hold tight," he ordered through the mask’s speaker.
Emma inhaled the cool, synthetic oxygen, clinging to Marcus’s shoulder as he moved through the choking fog like a phantom. He fired two precise shots at the ceiling sprinkler controls, releasing hundreds of gallons of cold water to wash away the burning chemicals and blind the remaining operatives.
Victor Lucian, gasping and disoriented, managed to draw a concealed sidearm from his coat, firing wildly blindly into the mist. A stray bullet grazed Marcus’s upper bicep, tearing through his sweater and drawing a bright streak of crimson. Marcus didn't even grunt. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, kicking the weapon from Victor’s hand and slamming the older syndicate boss hard against the marble pillar.
"This ends tonight, Victor," Marcus growled, leveling his gun directly between the older man’s eyes.
"Kill me... and the syndicate releases the files on your father's death..." Victor wheezed, his face turning blue from oxygen deprivation. "You'll never know who really ordered the hit."
Marcus’s hand remained rock steady. For a second, Emma thought he was going to pull the trigger. The cold fury radiating from him was palpable enough to freeze blood.
"I already know who ordered it," Marcus said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "It was Julian’s father. And while you were breaking into my house, my hackers emptied every single account tied to your syndicate's Swiss shell corporations."
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The emergency generators kicked in with a deep, rumbling hum. Normal air rushed through the ventilation shafts, dispelling the fog. Julian was curled on the floor, weeping hysterically in fetal position, while Victor stared at Marcus in utter disbelief.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the main entrance of the manor. Heavy tactical boots stamped through the foyer—not syndicate hitmen, but dozens of armed agents wearing federal tactical gear.
